feeling of being
by lydiamartins
Summary: she dons a fake smile, pearly whites framed by blood-red lipstick, remembering that back in Roseville, she has a world of boys waiting for her (but then again, none of them are Nick Maxwell, so it doesn't really matter, anyways) -— courtneycentric, slight courtneynick; for coppertone wars' twelve days of christmas challenge, level five, part five!


**notes — **this is more of a character study drabble than an actual story bc i feel as though i'm going to do character studies for the level five challenge; hope you guys like this, c: i'm sorry, i think i was supposed to do something that was ali-centric, but i could only think of things relating to courtney, her twin sister, who seemed like a lot more relatable character in the books; also all dialogue is in italics, and nothing is a direct quote

**feeling of being**  
courtney dilaurentis

.

Once upon a time, children laughed in merry-go-rounds, overenthused voices in a clamor at peaks of ferris wheels and roller coasters, dizzying motions a calming action, once repeated enough times; once upon a time, children could be themselves without being judged by everybody else, without having to ameliorate to conflate with the rest of the ever-changing crowd. Once upon a time, Alison and Courtney DiLaurentis was born - their mother was beaming, translucent, flimsy smiles for the cameras, one baby held in her arms, the other in her husband's (and Jason DiLaurentis, two-year-old, stood obstinately behind his father, not willing to be seen by the diaphanous paparazzi).

The younger (younger by five minutes, nothing more) of the two, Courtney DiLaurentis grew up in a bucolic setting; at the age of eight, she stares innocently at the grassy expanse of field, deep cerulean eyes gazing upon the demesne of the DiLaurentis's, as the world was so simple that the preserved tranquil ambiance could stay in place for all of time. Dulcet tones ring from inside of the bungalow-shaped mansion, and she turns her head ever so slightly, glancing back at the flashing, glimmer lights, and smiles to herself, as though life couldn't possibly be better.

(Alison and Courtney promised to be best friends for ever, swear-binding oaths and all.)

_You're not going to the party on Saturday, _Alison says, calmly, her dulcet tones ringing softly throughout the grassy knoll, deep cerulean eyes flickering with something akin to jealousy, bowed lips in a forever pout; nothing but innocence is reflected upon her ever-so-sweet face, and Courtney wonders when her twin had gained the upper place between the two of them.

_I'm going to the party, _Courtney reaffirms herself, standing up, and brushing the tarnished, almost burnt to a crisp leaves from her white party dress (identical to the one that Alison dons). _It's my birthday party, anyways —  
_

_Our birthday party, _Ali corrects, always the pushy one.

Courtney rolls her deep blue-as-the-sea eyes in annoyance, _Whatever, Ali. I'm still going - Naomi and Riley from school are going to be there, so you'll have your friends too. _She smiles, remembering her upper hand - popularity. _Anyways, I've already invited about thirty or so friends from school, everybody in my fourth grade homeroom, and they're all coming, so I have to go to the party. Mom will notice if I'm gone, so . . . _she trails off, something akin to a smirk forming around the corners of her lips.

_Naomi and Riley aren't even coming, anyways - they're going to some sort of camp thing with the rest of their other friends; but, you're not going, Courtney. Or should I say, Alison? _Ali laughs, and picks up a four-leaf-clover from the ground (she's always had more luck, out of the two of them, never luck in popularity and making friends, nonetheless), placing it in the corner of her right ear, a careless action - something innocent, out of a book, unsuspecting.

Her twin rolls her eyes. _Ali, you can't seriously be talking about that game that we played . . . when we were in third grade, and eight years old - times have changed, just grow up, okay? No wonder you don't have any friends. _The statement is meant to come out as casual, but there's something along the lines of confusion, almost suspicion and danger in the undertones, concealed between sweet and spice.

_I am growing up, _Ali says, her eyes flashing threateningly. _And, I do have friends, okay?_

_Sure, _Courtney laughs, _Whatever you say, Alison; _and then, within a moment, Courtney's on her back, Alison on top of her, in an attempt to strangle her own twin sister, blonde hair dripping downwards, something akin to a malicious grin and spite and hate fills deep blue cerulean eyes, glossed over cotton candy lips puckered into an innocent expression, curving downwards into a frown.

There's something along the lines of a yelp, and several squeals following afterwards - the two of them stand up, eyes wide and innocent; their parents approach from a distance, expressions crestfallen, as though they didn't expect their children to turn out like _this. Mommy, _Alison begins, her voice anything but malicious, all tones demure and ethereal, _Courtney did this to me, _she lies, pointing at the bruises around her neck, and the droplet of blood that falls from her finger, no doubt from something of a clumsy action performed previously or the nerve-wracking biting of a finger.

_Did not! _Courtney steps back, her tone accusatory. _She's the one who tried strangling me, mom! You have to believe me - she just didn't want me to end up going to my own birthday party, because she's jealous of my popularity __—_

The Dilaurentis's, ever so the perfectly together family, look at one another, first at Ali and how sweet she looks, the droplets of blood marring the innocence of the white dress and gauzy pearly napkins, her eyes slightly glossed over, no doubt caused by the fear of her sister's attacks (_you have to believe me, mommy, I'm the innocent one_), and Courtney, and the way that she stands, legs and arms crossed, her dress stained by grass and mud marks, rolling her eyes (_you can't honestly believe her, mom - can you?_) and they drag off Courtney into the car, and off to the Radley Sanitarium.

(A few years later, it was as though Courtney was never there.)

.

A few years later, Courtney is let out of Radley - three years, to be precise (Alison isn't let anywhere near her, and Courtney thinks that's a good thing - there wouldn't be a second where she would hesitate to throttle her own sister, back, for what she's done). Courtney's thought about it (switching places, because they've done it several times) before - a few years back, nobody could even tell the difference between the two of them.

So, she makes a spur-of-the-moment decision, slips on the A-for-Ali ring, and casually marches down the staircase, ignoring Alison's open door, and says, _Mom, where's my tulip top? _It's not as though the twins sound any different, and she's watched from the sidelines for enough years to know Alison's conniving personality, and how exactly to copy it - it shouldn't be that hard, she thinks. She won't go back to Radley, though; her mother hesitates for a moment, looking at Courtney straight in the eye, but she maintains a steady gaze, head tilted slightly, cerulean eyes bright and clear. _Seriously, Mom, where is it? Naomi and Riley are coming over later, so if I don't wear it, then we won't be matching, so . . . _she trails off, looking at her mother with a glare.

Her mother immediately snaps out of a daze, and smiles, _I think that your father might have mixed it up in Courtney's room - you can go check in her room, if you'd like, or I can do it for you. _She walks up the staircase, and in the marble kitchen, Courtney smiles at her reflection through the painted hardwood flooring and the shiny microwave reflection, and thinks that this might actually work.

.

It works for exactly four years and seven months until Courtney realizes that she's slipping up.

Courtney fingers the strings of lacrosse equipment, heaving the sports bag to sling it over her bony shoulders, fluttering her eyelashes in rhythmic motions; she waves goodbye to the varsity lacrosse team, refusing a ride home. There's the slightest bit of grass growing out of the snow which forms a distinct pattern, circling - heat seeps into her toes from the black pavement, her tan feet marching barefoot upon the paved path - Courtney's never actually been out in the sunshine during the fall, at least not without constant supervision from Radley supervisors to make sure that she doesn't go insane and try to kill somebody (most likely, their suspicion of Courtney trying to creep back into the DiLaurentis's mansion at night, and kill Alison in her sleep - but why would she do that?).

Contrary to popular belief, Radley (and its ever so pleasant instructors) had taught her - or, more specifically, _The Art of War _and other military technique books - that the best way to seek revenge upon one's enemy would be to take away everything that they hold dear to themselves, make them feel like you did when you were isolated, when nobody would dare speak to the insane, crazy girl who tried to kill her own twin sister.

_Alison?_ There's a familiar voice that resounds in the back of her ear, and a worn, calloused hand brushes against her neck, skin brushing against skin, and Courtney jumps instinctively before remembering that she is Alison, now, and Alison doesn't jump at the contact of the boy - she embraces it with a flirty smile. Nevertheless, it seemed as though she would never be quite as good as Alison had been. _I thought that you moved to Pennsylvania after fourth grade, right?_

She gives a beaming smile, wondering whether or not this boy in front of her was either one of those boys that Alison had picked up for making another one jealous, or somebody who honestly mattered, but judging by the beaming smile that the boy had returned to her, Courtney assumed that it was of the latter, and inwardly cursed herself for not reading forward into Ali's journal. It could have given her some insight on what to do in situations like this. _Yeah, but then mom moved us back after the break when Courtney got send to Radley. _She lets the words slip out of her mouth without meaning to.

The boy furrows his eyebrows, and Courtney thinks that she's said something wrong, yet again. _I thought that you guys were planning on moving away for a while, though, because of Jason's college? And no offense, Ali, but since when have you called your mother 'Mom'? _

_Things change, times change, _Courtney replies quickly, tilting her head to the right, and waving to a lacrosse friend who bounces off into her car, as though everything in the world is perfectly fine - which it is, to everybody else. _Ever since Courtney moved to Radley, I changed myself a bit - an inner makeover, of the like; my mom and dad helped, too._

He smiles, _Well, Ali, I really like the new you._

_._

The boy's name ends up being Nick - Nick Maxwell, a boy who's grown up in Roseville and lived there for the majority of his life, occasional trips with his parents to Iceland and the Honduras, something about _family bonding _or the like. It takes five weeks for Courtney to think that she's developed some sort of heads-over-heel crush on this new boy that she barely even knows, but it feels as though they've known each other forever (and it's the case, except Alison is the one who's known Nick since they were young, not Courtney).

They're sitting on the edge of Blind Man's Quarry one day, holding hands in amicable silence, staring off into the fall of oblivion when Nick looks at her, almost in a scrutinizing manner. _You're not Alison, are you? _

Courtney tries to keep her facial expressions calm, because her secret can't come out now, not after she's hidden it for three years, as well (but then again, Alison's coming back from Radley in a few weeks, and it'll come out eventually). _What are you talking about, Nick? _She'd rather avoid a direct answer because out of all people, she'd rather not lie to him.

_You're not Ali, _he says, as if it's as obvious. _I know Ali DiLaurentis - she's flirty and a bit mean sometimes, but she hates paintball more than anything, and I know that you love it, so you're not Alison DiLaurentis, and if you can't admit the truth to me, then I'm not sure what we are. _

Courtney swallows, _I'm not Alison - _

_So you've been lying to me, all this time? _He seems a bit more angry that the situation calls for, but Courtney doesn't really pick up on the fact that his words seem a bit too rehearsed and that maybe he's been waiting to break up with her since the day that even started dating. _I can't be in a secret relationship, and even worse, a secret relationship with lies? _There's a sudden buzz on Nick's phone, and his face darkens - he leaves immediately, and Courtney swallows once more, and closes her eyes, face in hands.

An hour later, she's walking down the road - Courtney thinks that she's already lost him; she dons a fake smile, pearly whites framed by blood-red lipstick which slightly smears upon her finger, and walks down paved driveways and linoleum floors, remembering that back in Roseville, she has a world of boys waiting for her (but then again, none of them are Nick Maxwell, so it doesn't really matter, anyways).

.

**notes |** courtneycentric drabble — for coppertone wars' twelve days of christmas challenge, level five, part five! (courtney's part), c: please leave a review?

also, the part at the end where nick suddenly broke up with her was supposed to be rushed, bc in the books he's the "third a", so he has questionable motives as well.


End file.
